


Like My Soul

by allourheroes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor Injuries, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 22:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15374499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes
Summary: “I don’t know what it is—some mutant birthmark, I guess.”Derek’s eyes finally flicker to his face. “It’s not just a birthmark.”What does thatmean? How is it not “just” a birthmark?





	Like My Soul

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to get this posted and done on what is technically yesterday (hello, 2am), but then it didn't happen. I'm going to fall the fuck to sleep after this, but please enjoy this little soulmate fic.
> 
> EDIT: Hahahaha...just fixed the glaring typo at the end. Sorry about that.

Then:

Scott sits on the bed beside Allison and she opens her mouth to speak, but Scott interrupts the thought.

“Whoa,” Scott says, looking between his hand and Allison’s. “Same birthmark.”

They place their hands palm-to-palm and she laughs and Scott smiles. They match so utterly and completely that, at least in that moment, it feels like fate.

And for once fate is kind.

~~~

Now:

Stiles has a lot of moles and marks, but the one on his thigh is the worst. It’s not just a little circle of darkness. No, this one has shape and definition that Stiles just cannot fathom. It’s one of the many reasons he hates changing in front of other people.

It’s just that, when your day regularly involves running for your life—mostly from enemies, but sometimes from friends—you don’t always have a choice about whether or not you will be partially undressed. Claws and teeth and tails and knives and bullets and all the myriad of things directed at Stiles have a tendency to disagree with clothing.

So Stiles gets shot in the leg by hunters. Somehow it’s _not_ the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

Deaton has disappeared for the week (family business) and Melissa really doesn’t need more on her plate at work right now, so they’re in the loft and Derek is the one cutting away jeans to reveal the bullet hole. That is—oh, right—in Stiles’s _leg_.

Derek cleans away the blood so that he can see the wound, but then he stops. He puts pressure on the wound, thankfully, but he’s staring and Stiles realizes that his ugly birthmark has been revealed for all to see.

“Could you-- Could you _not_ look at that?” He feels self-conscious in ways he knows he shouldn’t anymore.

Derek exhales sharply through his nostrils and he looks angrier than he’s been in a long time. He goes about the rest of the bullet wound care with quiet and precision, but after he’s done, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at the mark again.

“Your bedside manner is worse than even I imagined,” Stiles mutters and hopes it at least gets Derek to grunt a response. He makes an effort to prop himself up. “I know it’s gross,” he says finally. “I don’t know what it is—some mutant birthmark, I guess.”

Derek’s eyes finally flicker to his face. “It’s not just a birthmark.”

That piques Stiles’s interest and he scrambles desperately to look at it only to cry out in pain.

Derek tells him to rest and he does, but he can’t get the idea out of his head. What does that _mean_? How is it not “just” a birthmark?

~

Derek is unconscious, his clothes ripped to shreds, and luckily Stiles has healed his wounded leg, for the most part. It means he's not _completely_ useless.

Because somehow Stiles, Scott, and Isaac have to get Derek into Deaton’s office and onto the exam table without any of his limbs falling off. It’s a harrowing adventure that Stiles doesn’t want to repeat.

Deaton is talking and normally Stiles would be at least half-listening, even to all the bullshit and mysticism, but he sees something peeking out, not torn like the flesh around it. Without thinking, he pulls a strip of fabric that used to Derek’s jeans away from the skin.

Stiles balks, blinks. “Derek… Derek has the same birthmark.” Stiles feels slightly dizzy, like the world is playing a trick on him.

In the meantime, Deaton is checking out what seems to have Stiles so disoriented. “What’s the issue?” Deaton asks, then chuckles like he knows more than they do anyway. “Besides the obvious.”

Stiles points at Derek’s leg. “I have that exact same birthmark. Same location. Same everything. Except it’s on _my_ leg. Not Derek’s.”

Deaton’s fascination has thoroughly turned from Derek’s survival to the matching birthmarks, as happens when your number one job is dealing with the supernatural. “And it’s exactly the same? You’re sure?”

Stiles nods, gaze flickering back to it even as he tries to concentrate on Deaton. “Yeah. Yeah, a hundred percent sure.”

“That’s not that weird,” Scott says, laughing. “I mean, Allison and I had the same birthmark.”

Stiles blinks. “Scott and Allison? Me and Derek?” He’s looking at Deaton, but already an idea is forming. “Soulmates?” he says aloud, skeptically, like he’s trying to figure out the word.

“Soulmates,” Deaton says with certainty.

“Soulmates?” Stiles says again, tone completely changed. Because _what_? _Soulmates_?

“They can be platonic,” Deaton assures gently, but it’s easy enough to see that he doesn’t think this is the case.

“I don’t want to be _platonic_ soulmates with Derek!” Stiles explodes, gesturing wildly, then brings himself back in, lowers his voice. “I mean, you’ve seen Derek.”

“I can see Derek right now,” Isaac says. “He’s bleeding out on the table behind you.”

Stiles goggles, eyes flickering to Derek’s prone form. “Right.” A beat. “Doc?”

And Deaton is on it, calling on Scott and even occasionally Isaac for assistance. During a reprieve, Scott looks to Stiles. “You _want_ Derek to be your soulmate?”

“Scott, the word you just said is made of _soul_ and _mate_ , I don’t know that there’s much want or, or _choice_ involved.”

Deaton starts, “Actually—”

But something else has clicked and Stiles isn’t filtering his thoughts, because the next thing he says is, “Derek knows!” He pauses. “Derek _knows_? Derek knows that I’m his soulmate and he didn’t say anything. That’s… Huh.”

“Sounds like Derek,” Isaac mutters.

“It sounds like something you and Derek should discuss,” Deaton interrupts. “Once he’s conscious.”

~

They don’t get a chance right away. Their lives are too chaotic and whenever the thought pops into Stiles’s head that _Derek Hale is actually his soulmate_ , it’s usually right before they’re fighting or running or Derek is doing something monumentally stupid and self-sacrificing.

So they don’t talk about it.

And then they’re in the loft and Derek has just barely gotten out alive _and_ conscious—because that’s what counts as an epic win for them—and Stiles starts yelling.

“How could you do that? Honestly, you should be dead. The fact that the arrow missed your heart by this”—and he holds his finger and thumb so close that light can barely shine through—“much is so incredibly terrifying that I still want to throw up. Why?”

Derek’s face morphs into a mask of anger. “How could I not? I saved you, didn’t I?”

And that’s the last straw. “How do you think I’d feel if you died saving me? You think I want my freaking soulmate to sacrifice himself for me?”

Derek goes very still, but he still looks just as angry.

“Yeah, buddy,” Stiles says, and the ire hides his fear, “I know. I wouldn’t want me either.”

Isaac clears his throat and, yeah, maybe Stiles had forgotten he was even there, so what? “I’m gonna go.” When no one responds, he gives them both a look, then saunters off.

“I care about you, okay? I don’t want you to die. Or— or even to get hurt. Especially for no reason.” Stiles sighs. “Sorry.”

“I don’t want _you_ to get hurt, Stiles. After everything you’ve gone through, you’re still human. If you got hurt, it would be over. Your body doesn’t heal like mine can.” Derek’s eyes are soft now, even if his jaw is still stiff and foreboding.

“And why do you want to protect me?” Stiles asks slowly, because he can see the dots connecting.

“Because I care about you,” Derek replies, low and miserable.

Then, because he’s still Stiles, Stiles has to ask, “So, like, platonically or…?”

“Stiles, you’re seventeen.”

“I’m not saying we have to have sex right now.” Stiles tilts his head, his gaze drifts nonchalantly off to the side so he can view Derek from the periphery. “But, you know, we _could_ …”

“Stiles, I never said—”

“Wait!” And Stiles holds up his hands, stares at Derek with his eyebrows drawn together like he really needs Derek to listen. “Hear me out. Not just about the sex thing,” he starts, then wobbles, “well—”

“Stiles.”

“Okay, okay.” Stiles steps closer to Derek. “We’re soulmates, right?”

Derek exhales sharply from his nose. “Yes.”

“Ha! Got you to admit it.” At Derek’s glare, he continues, softer, “That means we’re, like, _meant to be together_ , right?” When Derek doesn’t respond, Stiles huffs. “If—and I know it’s a big _if_ —but if that’s true, do you...want it to be?” Stiles scrubs a hand through his hair. “I mean… Ugh. Why would you want it to be.”

Derek shifts, lets his head bob like he’s debating something. “It’s not so bad,” he says and it’s so low Stiles barely hears him over his own self-deprecation.

“What?” But he’s already stepping in closer.

Derek rolls his eyes.

Stiles tentatively puts his hand on Derek’s shoulder, waits to see if Derek glares it off like he did before, but when no aggression is forthcoming, Stiles grins and presses his body _nearly_ against Derek’s. He raises his eyebrows and Derek stares back. He starts to talk but then Derek is kissing him and Stiles’s touch turns from a reassuring caress to a desperate grip as he pours himself into it.

Derek pulls back. “You’re still seventeen,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to stop.

“Dude, I’m your _soulmate_ ,” Stiles says, and then he’s kissing Derek again, amazed as Derek lets him push him back until they hit a wall.

Kissing Derek is good. No. Kissing Derek is _amazing_. There’s some spark that Stiles has never felt before and he wants to chase it forever.

“We should stop,” Derek manages.

“‘Should,’” Stiles repeats, but then their hips slot together just so and he lets out a groan. The kiss turns messy and Stiles presses in further. It’s nearly too late when he says, “But we can stop if you want to stop.”

Derek’s breath hitches. “I—” He kisses Stiles again. “Fuck. Not yet.”

Stiles presses his forehead to Derek’s temple. “Yeah. I second that.” He pushes himself against Derek and it’s just the right-wrong friction. He tilts his head, gives Derek access to his neck and throat. “Derek Hale is my soulmate.” He laughs a little hysterically and it changes as Derek’s mouth closes in. “Derek…”

Derek grabs Stiles by the hips, slides his hands to Stiles’s lower back, down to his ass to grab and _grind_. “ _Mate_ ,” he growls, and Stiles can feel Derek’s cock through his jeans. Derek bites at the juncture of neck and shoulder with blunt human teeth that threaten to become more.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispers. “ _Fuck_ yeah.” He thrusts his hips up against Derek’s and imagines all the other things they could get into. He imagines Derek sprawled out on his bed, crawling on top of him like he’s been dreaming about. The image alone is nearly enough, but then he remembers that it’s really Derek there pressed up against him, mouthing his throat, hands on his ass, and Stiles’s hand can’t help slipping under the front of Derek’s shirt. His once-wounded leg is already getting stiff, but the sensation is too sinfully good to stop.

They’re about the same size now, not like they used to be, but Derek hoists Stiles with ease, pins him to the wall instead so that Stiles just needs to wrap his legs around Derek’s waist because, oh, yes, they are doing this.

Stiles’s eyes roll back and he says, “I’m—”

But Derek is already there. “Yeah. C’mon.”

Stiles stutters over the edge and Derek follows with a groan.

The both just breathe.

Then, Stiles says, “So, the sex thing—”

And Derek groans in a completely different way.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm feeling Sterek right now, so [if you've got requests](http://allourheroes.tumblr.com/ask)...


End file.
